


Variations

by BloodFromTheThorn



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Gen, Lots of Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodFromTheThorn/pseuds/BloodFromTheThorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney continued to stare at the spot where the colonel had been standing, perhaps in the hopes that he would miraculously reappear along with the chunk of floor that had given way when he'd stepped on it but even in a place as weird and wonderful as the Pegasus galaxy, miracles didn't happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Starts With A Death

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing in this fandom. I watched the show when it first came out – loved every minute – and have missed it ever since. I’ve been rewatching it all recently and found that I just had to write something, even though this fandom has probably died out by now. Either way, here it is.   
> As I said, first time with these characters so my characterisation will be a little off for a while until I can settle in. Please bear with me.   
> This will be multichapter.

John was dead.

There was more to the story, obviously, but that was a fair summary. At that moment in time, it was the only fact that could penetrate the cloud of white noise in Rodney's head. He continued to stare at the spot where the colonel had been standing, perhaps in the hopes that he would miraculously reappear along with the chunk of floor that had given way when he'd stepped on it but even in a place as weird and wonderful as the Pegasus galaxy, miracles didn't happen.

The grit under Rodney's knees was really starting to bother him, the irritation finally working its way past all the other emotions blocking it. He shifted carefully, suddenly aware of how fragile the rock below him must be if it could break under the weight of someone as slim as Sheppard. But, he counselled, even though he was slender, John was covered in muscle, right? He probably weighed the same as Rodney did. Right.

The logic didn't stop him from panicking with every inch he shifted, trying to put distance between him and the spot where his friend had died. Because there was no way that even someone like Sheppard survived a fall like that – as much as he might seem inhuman, the man was still blood and bone like everyone else and that meant vast drops into absolute darkness were not conducive to continued good health.

The rock beneath him groaned slightly and Rodney found himself releasing a noise that was caught somewhere between fear and grief. John was _dead._ And for all his genius, there was absolutely nothing Rodney could do about that.

His radio crackled, startling him badly. He'd forgotten about the world beyond this tiny, godforsaken cave. Now that he remembered, new hope rose within his chest, burned out almost instantly by guilt.

"Hello? Teyla, Ronon? Is anybody there?"

There was more static that sounded like it could be voices and he poked at the machine in his ear with desperation.

"Teyla? Ronon? This is Dr Rodney McKay, does anybody read me?"

Another heartbreaking crackle and then Teyla's voice was there, calm and collected as always. "Rodney? We hear you."

"Oh thank god. The rocks were blocking the signal – we couldn't contact you and then-" he stopped, unable to say it.

There was an expectant pause before Teyla spoke again. "Rodeny? Is John with you?"

He tried to speak, tried to explain, but all that came out of his mouth was a soft sob of utter defeat, the reality of the situation crashing down on him in such a rush it caused physical pain to spark through his joints. His head throbbed in time with his heart beat and his broken wrist blazed beneath too-thin skin. The cave he was trapped in had sealed itself with the rock slide that had almost killed him and Sheppard – _had_ killed Sheppard in the end, by forcing them out onto the thin shale to avoid the falling debris.

John wasn't the only person who was going to die on this planet.

" _Rodney?_ " Teyla sounded like she was starting to panic – almost unheard of. It only made him more afraid.

"He fell," he was able to stammer eventually, his voice shaking as much as his hands were. He'd stopped trying to move away from the hole in the floor when the rocks had started to groan more loudly.

"Who fell? Colonel Sheppard?"

Rodney nodded before he remembered that there was no way for her to see him. "The floor gave way," he explained haltingly, "and he just… fell. We were trapped by the cave in. He was trying to find a way out."

"Trying to save _you_ ," Ronon put in suddenly with a harshness that bit at Rodney like no knife could. "And he died for it."

There was a certainty in his voice that Rodney couldn't bring himself to feel – acknowledging John's death for real would be the final nail in his all-too-real coffin and right now he needed to worry about himself.

" _Yes,_ " he whispered, pained.

For a brief moment, Rodney's world lapsed into silence, frozen in an awful façade. Then, with no warning, Teyla scoffed. She sounded different, colder than he'd ever heard her and in that one little noise, Rodney understood that there would be no daring rescue from the rest of his team. He was going to die there.

"What a waste," she told him without care. "Maybe if you'd died instead of him, we'd bother clearing the cave mouth but for you…"

"You're just not worth it McKay," Ronon agreed.

"Not worth anything."

Rodney could feel every pulse of blood through his veins like it was acid. His whole body was trembling violently and he was fairly sure he was either going to vomit or pass out.

"But-" he tried valiantly, only to be cut off by Ronon's uncaring laughter.

"I've been waiting for an opportunity to get away from your endless wailing," he bemoaned, "and this is the perfect excuse. We'll just tell Weir that it's too bad that you were both killed in a landslide."

"You can't do this," he cried out in desperation, ignoring the slight shift in the rock beneath him. At least falling would be a quicker death than starving to death in a rock prison.

"I believe that we just did," Teyla informed him smartly, a smile in her voice.

Rodney's scream was swallowed up by the sound of cracking rock and the sharp sinking feeling as the floor gave way below him.


	2. Waking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fandom still lives it seems. I'm incredibly grateful for that, and all your kind words. Thank you.

There were hands on his shoulders when he woke, preventing him from bolting upright as his panicked body was trying to do.

"McKay, stop- _Rodney_!" His flailing fist connected with something solid, drawing a pained grunt from whoever it was holding him down. The voice gradually filtered down through Rodney's sleep-addled brain until he recognised it.

"Colonel?"

There was an audible sigh of relief. "Back with me then?"

"Did I go somewhere?" Rodney was still half asleep, trying desperately to get his brain to kick into gear so that he could understand how they weren't both dead.

"Dead?" Sheppard echoed – which made absolutely no sense because Rodney hadn't been talking aloud, had he?

"You are actually," the Colonel told him. Rodney had the impression he was smiling, despite himself.

"Well, stop listening," Rodney snapped at him, irritated in a way he couldn't explain. His body was starting to wake up properly, and he could feel a heaviness at his wrists that could only be shackles, combined with the thoroughly unpleasant sensation of every inch of his skin rippling with the promise of pain. "What's happened?"

"You don't remember?" Sheppard sounded worried this time, the smile gone from his voice. Rodney mourned its absence before he was able to stop himself.

"The last thing I remember is _dying_."

"Well," John said, clearly trying not to sound like he thought Rodney had lost his mind, "I'm almost certain that didn't happen. Went through quite a lot to make sure that it didn't in fact. We were captured, remember? On a routine trip to P5L-774? Locals with bows and arrows? Any of this ringing a bell?"

It was starting to, now that he thought about it, but Rodney still did his best to raise a hand to flap at the Colonel. John huffed a laugh that sounded like it hurt. Finally too curious to stay down, Rodney forced his eyes open to be instantly greeted by the sight of one Lieutenant-Colonel John Sheppard with a black eye, broken nose and sluggishly bleeding head wound.

"What happened to you?" In his surprise, the concern sounded more like indignation.

The corner of John's mouth quirked up before he let the half smile slip away, as though even that little movement hurt him (to be fair, it probably did). "Like I said. It took some doing to stop them from burning you alive."

"You- They- _Burning?"_ He managed eventually, once he'd stopped spluttering. He wasn't sure which question to ask first.

"I assume that's what the pyre was for. They weren't particularly forth-coming with information but they seemed pretty determined to get you up there. It took a little convincing but they eventually decided that you were better off staying with me."

"And they payment for that was you getting beaten half to death?"

"No, the beating was because I demanded we be held inside and not out in the rain. The broken wrist was payment for you not being burned."

Rodney's glance flickered down to where John was cradling his left arm in his lap with his relatively uninjured right. He had a vague memory of the broken bone being his own in the dream but the thought slipped away before he could grasp it. Now that he thought, despite the bruises littering his skin, he himself was almost entirely untouched.

"That was stupid."

"Wasn't about to let them burn you."

"Yes, well, still," Rodney persisted, refusing to let the bubble of fond warmth in his chest show on his face. Whether he'd admit it aloud or not, John was the closest thing he had to a best friend, and the reminder that this man would lay down his life for him was touching in a way that Rodney had never experienced before Atlantis. "Where are we?"

"I told you: P5L-774."

Rodney summoned just enough energy to scowl at him, though from the way he grinned back it wasn't his usual, impressive glare. "You know exactly what I was asking Colonel."

John's smile didn't fade immediately, but even Rodney could see the force of will it was taking to keep it in place – he was absurdly grateful for the attempt. "Once I'd convinced them that they should put us inside, they brought us into some caves on the East side of the village. One of them forced you to drink something. That's around the time you passed out."

" _Drink something?_ " Rodney repeated, horrified. His anxiety, already through the roof, started scraping the top of the scale as his heart rate tripled. "Do you have any idea what that could have _been?_ What if it was poison? Or something I'm allergic too? I could be on a timer right now and oh god, of all the ways to _die-_ "

John's uninjured hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing to the point of pain. His gaze was level, calm. "Rodney. I need you to stay calm for me, okay? Whatever they gave you hasn't killed you yet and it's been hours. If it was poison, we'd know about it. More likely it was whatever gave you those nightmares – unpleasant sure, but not deadly. So you need to _calm down._ " His voice was soothing, in an I-will-look-after-you type way, and Rodney felt his heart rate respond before his mind could try to stop it.

"You're forgetting," he pointed out after a minute, when he was sure that opening his mouth wouldn't just result in screaming, "That we've seen dreams kill people in the past. I distinctly remember a nightmare killing _me_ , in fact."

"That was a malevolent entity at work, not a drug. The dreams can't hurt you, I promise."

"What the hell would you know about it? Did you get a degree in biomedical chemistry when I wasn't looking?" But Rodney was already relaxing under the reassuring weight of the Colonel's hand, the anxiety dropping back to the usual background of life threatening situations (and on a related side note, his life was utterly ridiculous and on the off chance there was some primordial deity dictating their actions, he was a vindictive bastard and Rodney would like to take this moment to submit a formal complaint).

"See? Isn't that better?" John took his hand back after a moment to cradle his broken wrist again. Rodney pretended that he didn't miss the contact. "Right. We need a plan."

"What happened to Teyla and Ronon?" Indistinct words and laughter echoed in his ears, along with a remembered flood of terror – he forced them away. They hadn't abandoned him. That was only a dream. Dreams couldn't hurt him.

"When we took off towards the gate they were ahead of us. Since they're not here I'm going to work under the assumption that they were able to get off world."

"So a rescue should be appearing any minute now?"

John was too tense for that to be the case though, and Rodney knew what his answer would be before he spoke. "If they'd gotten back to Atlantis and got a team together, then even with a conservative estimate they would have been back an hour ago. I'd guess that when they dialled the gate they were too closely pursued to dial Atlantis. If they headed to another planet to hide out then it could be days before Atlantis knows what's going on."

"We'll miss our check ins," Rodney pointed out hopefully. "Dr Weir will know something's wrong-"

He stopped when John shook his head, looking grim. "Did you hit your head at some point? Your memory seems a little patchy. You said this planet has an electromagnetic field like you'd never seen before; communications aren't reliable. Something about too much interference."

The memory returned then, though hazy and muffled. Rodney could remember explaining to Elizabeth that they'd have to physically return to Atlantis every time they needed to check in, so they'd agreed to only have a meeting every three days. A lot could happen in three days.

"Oh god, we're going to die."

John flicked the back of his head. "We're not going to die. We're going to make plan to get ourselves out of here, get back to the gate and go home. Preferably without either of us getting hurt along the way. So stop with the morbid comments and help me."

This time Rodney's glare had more bite behind it, but it made no difference. Years of working together had made John immune to almost all of the scientist's facial expressions and at that moment, he had bigger things to be worrying about. "Oh, of course Colonel. Don't let me get in the way of your plotting."

"Look. I can remember the way back out but I don't think that's our best bet. There aren't any guards this deep in the caves, but I've no doubt that they've put some nearer the entrance. Leaving that way will only result in a fight."

"So we're stuck."

John flicked him again without missing a beat. "Look at the walls of the cave. They're smooth. Not pitted."

"Since when were you a geologist?"

"These types of caves are formed when there's an underground water flow. A buried river, or perhaps a reservoir of some sort – that doesn't matter. What it means is that there's got to be at least two ways in and out."

Rodney's hopes rose minutely. "Where the water came in and where it left again."

John grinned, pleased to have finally brought the scientist on board with his line of thinking. "Exactly. Judging from the tunnel structure, I'd guess that there's another way out in the opposite direction to the way we came in and if we're very lucky, it's unguarded."

Rodney was nodding slowly to himself, trusting in what the Colonel was telling him without stopping to consider whether he was right or not. He seemed like the sort of person to know these things. "What happens if we're unlucky?"

The Colonel gave a one shouldered shrug, struggling to stand without jostling his wrist and what Rodney assumed was at least a few cracked ribs. "We'll worry about that later."

"You have the worst plans of anyone I've ever met, you know?"

"Well," John said, smiling tightly, "I do try."


	3. It Ends With A Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the worst places are dark and cold and dead.

It was pitch black and freezing cold. Because _of course_ Rodney's day had only gotten worse, when did it not?

His memory was a little hazy around the edges – distinctly similar to previous times he'd had a concussion, so the possibility he'd hit his head at some point seemed likely. He'd been walking with John through some kind of cave, that much he was sure of. As for Ronan and Teyla, he could remember their voices but it somehow felt _unreal,_ and as he had no recollection of seeing them in the caves, he was disinclined to believe that they'd been there.

Then something had happened that had taken him from that moment to this one but the exact details were sketchy. He had a vague impression of weightlessness, as though he was falling from some great height but he had no memory of landing and despite the obvious head wound, he evidently wasn't paste at the bottom of some cavern. So. His memory wasn't necessarily believable. The very concept that something might be messing up his precious mind was unfathomably terrifying but Rodney's fingers had already gone numb and he was fairly sure he needed to leave the freaking out part of this adventure until later.

He hadn't noticed the cold at first, when he'd found himself in this place. It had crept up on him when he was still too muddled to really pay attention but once it had gotten its claws into him, it was stubbornly refusing to let go. He was sure that his breath must be misting in front of his face but even that was impossible to see in the impenetrable darkness.

The memories he had of John involved light. There'd been torches along the walls at seemingly random intervals and when they'd run out, John had given Rodney one to hold (rightfully assuming that even with a broken wrist, he should still be their first line of defence should they be attacked and it was easier to fight when not holding an unwieldy flaming stick in your one good hand).

There wasn't any light any more. Even having been sitting in the darkness for so long, Rodney couldn't see a single shape in the shadows, nor any brightening anywhere that might be an indication of which way they had come from. If they'd fallen from above, then surely the torch would have fallen with them?

Whatever had happened, and wherever Rodney was, he needed to move. John hadn't responded when he'd called out to him so he was either nearby and unresponsive, or he was somewhere else entirely and whichever one it was, Rodney needed to get to him.

Trying to stand proved utterly undoable. There was something wrong with his leg, even though he couldn't feel it hurting him. The whole limbs seemed strangely numb.

In fact, his whole body felt numb. He'd thought that it was simply the cold making his skin tingle and shut off but now that he really thought about it, he could see that it was more than that. His head should be pounding if he'd injured it, and he surely had because there was no other reasonable explanation for the memory loss. He couldn't hear anything. Not in the the-world-about-him-was-silent kind of way, but in the my-ears-aren't-working-anymore kind of way – he couldn't even hear the beat of his own heart.

Something was very, very wrong. He couldn't make sense of each new piece of information, as though his brilliant, unbeatable mind had turned itself into a sieve which was incapable of catching any but the most obvious of things.

Cold. No pain. No John. Alone.

_Alone._

He should have been terrified – _was_ terrified, in a distant sort of way. Like how he knew that his leg should be hurting and that it was hurting on some level but it just wasn't reaching whichever part of him his consciousness had fled to.

He had to find John. John could make everything better. He'd make it so that the scream building in Rodney's ice cold, unfeeling chest could bubble away into nothing because he was certain that if he let it out, he'd never be able to claw it back in.

Since standing was clearly out of the question, he threw his not-insubstantial pride out the metaphorical window and resigned himself to crawling. It required him to drag his leg awkwardly and the rock beneath him was no doubt scratching him to bits but that didn't matter so long as he was mobile. Legs and skin would heal, so long as he could get himself out of the infernal darkness.

Maybe this was simply hell. Maybe he had actually fallen and really was paste at the bottom of some cavern, and any minute now the devil was going to spring out from behind a rock to start his induction into the afterlife. That might be nice. It'd be some company at least.

The thought was forced away with great effort.

Finding John was all that mattered. He let that be the guiding light, even though he knew that every inch he dragged himself was utterly hopeless. He couldn't even see his own hands in front of him – how was he supposed to find someone who wasn't responding?

Every second pulled that scream closer and closer to the surface of his skin until he wasn't sure if he was already crying out. Twice he put his hand to his mouth to find out if it were open or not.

Against all the odds, he found John.

His hands went one after the other, ever onwards, until suddenly one of them connected with something that wasn't unmoving rock. It was soft, and pliable – flesh.

It was ice cold.

The scream burst out of him with enough force to knock him to the ground and kept on going, pouring out of places in his soul he'd never even felt before. John was dead and that meant that Rodney was going to die too and no one was ever going to find them in this god forsaken cave –

He passed out still screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the story title making more sense?


	4. Real or Not Real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When are dreams really dreams?

The first thing Rodney became aware of was the shackles on his wrists pulling his arms into an awkwardly strained position, and the way that his shoulders had begun to ache with it. The second thing was that someone was speaking to him in a quiet, desperate sort of way that was oddly familiar; it took him several long seconds to recognise it as pleading. It took even longer for him to recognise it as John.

The words were entirely incomprehensible when Rodney's mind was still pooled about him in foggy inconsistency, but he focussed on the tone and the knowledge that he wasn't alone. Had he been alone before? There was a distinct feeling of urgency under his skin, the need to search for something – some _one_  – but the reason behind it was lost somewhere in the haze of his thoughts.

"Rodney?" This time the voice came through loud and clear, no longer pleading but hopeful. Had Rodney said something?

He tried to then, succeeding in opening his mouth but unable to force his throat to cooperate. It felt like he was operating his own body from some great distance, and there was a delay between what he commanded and what his body did. He forced himself to swallow once, then twice, and tried again.

"John?" His voice was mangled half to hell, but he was heard.

"Yeah, it's me. Thank god." That was relief, clear and overwhelming and it was so far beyond Sheppard's usual cheerful tone that Rodney started with surprise. The movement jolted his head painfully, and he had to spend another few minutes clawing back what coherency he'd managed to regain.

"What…?"

He understood what was being asked without problem. "You collapsed – no warning. That drug they gave you can't have worn off yet."

"Drug?"

There was a long, telling silence before Sheppard spoke again. "You don't remember? P5L-774?"

"Huh?"

"We've had this conversation once already Rodney. You're starting to worry me – we don't have time to repeat ourselves."

What on Earth was he talking about? Rodney thought hard, trying to get the wisps of fog in his head to dissipate so that he could understand what was happening – he was not someone who tolerated stupidity and right now he felt like a two year old trying to comprehend quantum mechanics.

There was a knot of memories lurking in his head that didn't make sense. A series of images flashed behind his eyelids in a disjointed slideshow, pictures of caves and John and blood. Pictures of death.

"John?" He hoped that his voice didn't sound as afraid as he felt.

"I'm here."

"Are you okay?" It was the first proper sentence he'd managed.

"Yeah, Rodney. I'm fine."

_Lie._ He could hear the tenseness that crept into the Colonel's voice whenever he was forced to be untruthful with his friends and in that instant, he hated it with every fibre of his being.

More memories slid in at the corners, strengthening the overall image. He could remember waking up in a similar situation, and how little he'd understood then – history repeating itself like a broken record.

"P5L-774? Captured?"

"You remember?"

Rodney screwed up his face, trying to shrug but not completely sure that he'd really succeeded. He still hadn't opened his eyes. "Some. Things… confused."

One of John's hands was resting on his shoulder, he realised, only noticing it when the fingers squeezed in reassurance. "Probably the drug. Soon as we get back to Atlantis you can have Beckett get a proper look at you."

With monumental effort, Rodney got his eyes open. John was sat beside him with his broken wrist settled carefully in the cradle of his crossed legs and the torch Rodney had been carrying balanced against the rock wall. Its light cast strange flickering shadows in every direction. Sheppard's face was still a mess of blood, but in the time since Rodney had first seen him, bruises had started to come up against the usually fair skin. He looked awful.

"Beckett should look at you first," he reasoned, trying for levity but falling far short.

Sheppard grimaced at him. "Can you stand? We really need to keep moving. As soon as they notice that we're not where they left us, they'll come looking and I don't fancy our chances in a fight right now. If they drag us back, I'm not going to be able to stop them."

It took a truly terrible situation for Sheppard to ever admit to being unable to do something – that terrified Rodney more than anything else. His heart started straining against his ribs.

It was perhaps because of his terror that he didn't even think to shoot back a smart-mouthed reply as he usually would have done, and instead concentrated on convincing his limbs to work as they should. John rose to his feet without much grace, and offered his uninjured hand to support him – it was only then that Rodney noticed he wasn't shackled in the way the scientist was. Perhaps they'd underestimated him because of his injuries.

Though, looking at him, Rodney couldn't be sure that it really was so much of an underestimation. The Colonel had lost a lot of colour in his face when he'd stood up and now he was practically grey behind the blood and bruises. He was swaying ever so slightly. His instability had Rodney pushing to his feet without the offered assistance, afraid that he'd end up pulling John down with him.

Once he had his legs under him, he was fairly sure he'd made a mistake. The world twisted sickeningly around him with the muted orange glow smearing into a strange pattern of lights that did nothing to help the sudden, aggressive pounding in his skull. He stuck out his hand to support himself on the wall. The stone under his palm was ice cold.

Another memory slammed into him, knocking out everything else that had settled in his thoughts. Cold. Dark. Alone.  _John._

His knees buckled beneath him, but he didn't feel the collision. All he was aware of was aching cold clutching at his muscles as John's lifeless body lay motionless under his fingertips, unable to even see the last, frozen expression on the face that had come to mean so much to him. John was  _dead_ and Rodney was  _alone_ and absolutely no one was coming to save him and he was going to die there in the never ending dark-

-He was snapped out of it by a sharp pain in his cheek.

John – living, breathing,  _alive_ John – was crouching in front of him with obvious effort, his uninjured hand moving to his shoulder to brace him now that he had succeeded in capturing the scientist's attention. He was speaking, lips moving but Rodney couldn't hear him, couldn't hear anything over the pounding of his heart and the aching in his lungs as he gasped for breath.

"You're dead," Rodney gasped eventually, the certainty of it in his blood. He'd seen John die. No, wait, that's not right. He  _couldn't_ see. He could  _feel_  John but-

-No, that didn't make sense either because John had  _fallen_  and Rodney had watched it happen-

The memories fought for dominance in vivid colours, both terrible and both equally impossible because Rodney was looking at John, could feel the hand he'd put on his shoulder. This had to be real. It  _had_ to be. Because otherwise John was dead and Rodney was dying and there was no one there to save him, to tell him everything was going to be alright.

John's fingers tightened spasmodically on his shoulder, face going dark with worry. His mouth was moving again. Rodney had to really focus, but slowly the sound filtered back in.

"-Starting to scare me McKay," he was saying, his hand a vice. His broken wrist dangled painfully at his side with nothing to support it.

"Real?" He was still gasping out the words, lungs heavy and awkward in his chest.

Sheppard didn't look in any way reassured to have Rodney talking again. "This is real. You feel that?" He squeezed his shoulder. "This is  _real._ Not dead."

"Not dead," Rodney repeated, trying to make himself believe it.

"No. Alive. Both alive. Everything else is dreams, okay? You're alright McKay."

Rodney shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut when it made everything spin again. "Not me," he managed.

He opened his eyes again in time to see Sheppard's soften, understanding flooding his face with sympathy. "We're  _both_  okay," he amended.

"Alive," Rodney said softly. His breathing finally started to slow from the near-hyperventilation as his heart rate dropped to a more reasonable pace. The memories weren't memories – they were dreams. Dreams could not hurt him.

"Yeah. You alright?"

Rodney nodded. "I think so. My head…"

"It's just the drug. Nothing to worry about, I promise."

It was an attractive prospect to believe him, so Rodney did his best. It mostly worked. "We need to…" He gestured vaguely to the darkness beyond their little circle of torchlight. The flames flickered ominously.

"Yeah, we should. But I need to know that you're okay to walk McKay."

Dreams could not hurt him. He nodded to Sheppard, and forced his legs to take his weight when he pushed off from the wall he was propped against. The Colonel didn't try to help him up this time and Rodney didn't know if that was because he thought he would be okay on his own, or if he realised that he didn't have any strength to spare for the scientist.

As before, Rodney was the one left to carry the torch but he didn't mind. It was comforting to be able to ward off the dark by himself, even if Sheppard barely even seemed to notice the complete blackness. It was too much like his dream for Rodney to cope with.

"John?"

"Yes?" His voice sounded strained; Rodney wondered what sort of damage was hiding under his uniform.

"Thank you."

He wasn't really sure what he was thanking him for. Looking after him? Talking him back from the edge? Not being dead? It didn't matter. He wouldn't have the courage to say it again later, when his brain was working at full speed again and his pride had started getting in the way, but it needed saying.

John didn't reply – perhaps he was in too much pain to do so, but Rodney doubted it. Maybe he just didn't know what to say. They didn't usually have this conversation with real words.

The images of John falling flickered through his mind again at the same instant as an ice cold flash went through his muscles. He shuddered, the torch trembling in his hand. He forced the feeling away with as much strength as he could muster, determined not to be defeated by a few bad dreams. Dreams could not hurt him.

Dreams  _could not_ hurt him.

He had no idea how wrong he was.


	5. Flight of the Wounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can dreams become reality?

To everyone's intense relief, Rodney stayed conscious for the next two hours or so without incident. The remnants of dreams flickered at the edge of his vision with each breath but he was gradually learning how to force them away when they became too solid, too real. It was easier when he had John' presence at his side, alive and breathing and _there._

There'd been sporadic conversation to start with, which had helped, but it had gradually trailed off as they marched onwards. At first, Rodney had thought that it was in deference to his clearly shaken state, but more and more he was realising that it was because John didn't have enough air in his lungs to form the words.

The Colonel was visibly starting to lag. His breathing was uneven at best, and had gained an unpleasantly wet wheeze somewhere along the way that was only encouraged by the way he was forced to walk curled over his ribs to ease the strain on them. The bruises were out in full force now to ensure that the entirety of his face was a purple, blue and red blur of pain. In the dim torchlight, Rodney could just make out the brief flickers of pain that John wasn't able to hide.

Rodney waited as long as he dared before letting his feet stop. It took John another three paces for him to realise that the light was no longer moving with him, and he turned in hazy confusion.

"McKay?"

"We need to stop Colonel," Rodney announced, already preparing the words he would need to convince him. "We've been walking for a good few hours now and we don't seem to be any closer to anything. The best thing we can do is rest for a while and gather our strength. Neither of us are going to be able to keep this up for much longer, and you know it."

Sheppard opened his mouth to argue with a frown that looked like it hurt, before snapping it shut again. He sighed wearily. "Alright."

"Now, I know what you're going to say but- Wait. What? You agree?" Rodney blinked in surprise before he forced it out of his expression. "I mean, of course you agree. It's the right thing to do."

That was enough to draw a small, weary smile out of the Colonel. "Sure, McKay," he said, sinking carefully to the floor of the tunnel without further deliberation. The way he was forced to ease himself down awkwardly hunched over to avoid jostling his ribs did not go unnoticed.

Cold with concern but unsure how to help, Rodney followed his lead and sat beside him, using the cave wall to prop himself upright. "Still think we're going in the right direction?"

Incredibly, John huffed a wheeze of a laugh. "Thought you had more faith in me than that." There was no offence in his voice, just tired amusement. He looked as though if they didn't keep talking he was going to pass out at any minute.

"You know," Rodney said, casting around for any topic of conversation and finding nothing else, "You look really quite awful."

There was another breathless laugh. "Gee, thanks. You really know how to make a guy feel special McKay."

"Yes, well, right now my survival is directly dependant on your survival. Forgive me for being concerned."

"I'm fine McKay. Nothing I can't handle."

"And that's why you're having a powernap, right?"

With visible effort, John got his eyes open again and levelled a very half-hearted glare in Rodney's direction. "Who's napping? Besides, you don't look too great yourself you know. How're you feeling?"

"I think what you mean to say is: can I feel the poison killing me yet?"

"I thought we'd established that if it was poison, you'd already be dead. If that's the case then I'm having a _really_ weird hallucination."

It was meant as a joke, a deflection from the horror of their situation and it was exactly the kind of thing Rodney would have expected John to say. In any other instance, he might have forced a laugh, or at the very least grimaced in distaste. Not this time. Images of John falling danced behind McKay's eyes, the sickening feel of corpse-cold flesh tingling beneath his fingers. He felt the blood drain from his face moments before he saw the corresponding frown take over Sheppard's expression.

"McKay?"

"No, it's- I'm fine. I think. Possibly dying, but when are we not? I'm fine." Rodney felt the jittery uncertainty crawling back under his skin as his heart rate rose again. He should have known that without having to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other his mind would swing back to panic. Stupid decision to have stopped at all, really.

John's hand found its way back to his shoulder. He had to twist awkwardly to do it – the hand nearest the scientist was the one with the broken wrist – and it must have strained his ribs horribly, but he didn't let the pain onto his face, determined to help. "Rodney. It's alright. We're both okay, remember?"

"I would like to state," Rodney said at length, when he thought he could breathe again, "That alien drugs are terrible things and we should warn all outgoing teams to turn down any food and drink offered."

"That's no way to make friends."

"We have enough friends, don't we?"

John snorted. It was obvious even to an outsider that they were running dangerously low on allies – every new settlement they'd made contact with in the last few months had either wanted nothing to do with them or had been downright hostile (exhibit A: this very mission). "You didn't answer my question before."

There was a long moment of silence, Rodney trying to work out how honest he could reasonably be about his condition without putting even more strain the clearly exhausted Sheppard. "I can't really feel anything. I had some mild stomach cramps before but it's gone now. Maybe it's leaving my system."

It was evident in his tone how hopeful he was that was the case, even though he knew that it wasn't. Things were never so easy for them.

"It's been a few hours," John agreed easily, "It would make sense."

Rodney didn't feel any compulsion to point out that wishful thinking wasn't going to get them anywhere. They were both well aware of that gem of information already.

"We should get moving again," John said after another stretch of silence, but he didn't make any move to rise to his feet. "They'll be looking for us and they'll know these caves better than we do."

"Remind me again why we thought this would be a good idea."

"They wanted to burn you alive? They drugged you? They imprisoned us in a cave? Do I need to keep going with this?"

Rodney glared mildly at him. "You've made your point, thanks. Are you alright to keep going?"

"I'm fine, McKay." He was using that voice again, the one that Rodney hated, that was so tense and strained because John didn't like lying and he especially hated lying to his friends.

A fool could tell that John needed to stay where he was for another few hours at least, but they just didn't have that luxury and they both knew it. Rodney wanted to scream at the injustice of it all.

It took some careful navigation on both their parts, but they managed to get back on their feet with minimal embarrassment and only a few minor mishaps. Despite their relative success however, it was obvious almost immediately that even the simple act of standing had almost overtaxed John's feeble strength. He was breathing rapidly and shallow, as though he needed to breathe deeply but couldn't and so had resorted to the next best thing, and his skin had gone ghost pale in the torchlight, making the bruises stand out all the more. The marring of his face was acting as a constant reminder of all the ways Rodney had failed him, and looking at him had started to induce such a pit of guilt in the scientist's gut that he would have kept his eyes on the ground if he could.

In deference to the Colonel's obvious faltering, Rodney made no immediate attempt to start walking again, content to wait where they were until John made the first move. It took less time than he expected for the first few faltering steps.

Falling into step behind him, Rodney did his best to hold the torch high enough to illuminate the tunnel ahead of them. With his hands bound, he was forced to awkwardly hold it with both hands, without any chance to switch between them to rest his aching muscles – on another day he might have been complaining about such an imposition. As it was, watching Sheppard struggle onwards when he could barely breathe through the pain, it seemed too churlish to vocalise his discomfort. Perhaps he really was growing as a person.

"You know," Rodney said some time later, when the silence was starting to get to him, "I'm pretty sure we have to be cursed."

Unable to form a vocal response, Sheppard turned his head just enough for Rodney to see his raised eyebrow.

"No, no, hear me out. This sort of thing doesn't happen to other teams, does it? I mean, think about it. The last five missions Lorne's team went on were completed without a hitch. I read the reports their scientist wrote up – Diana?"

"Dayna," Sheppard corrected quietly, his voice hoarse.

"Yes, that one," Rodney agreed easily, trying to cover his concern at how awful John sounded. "They didn't have so much as a whiff of trouble. They went to their assigned planet, completed their assigned tasks, and came home again – done and dusted. What do we do? We strand ourselves on a planet of homicidal maniacs who like to poison innocent scientists, knowing full well that if anything goes wrong we can't call for help, and the worst part? This is a _normal_ day for us. If anything, it's a little light on the horror factor."

"I'll do my best to keep it interesting," John said drily. His footsteps faltered ever so slightly, but he didn't fall. "Is there a point to all this?"

"I'm just saying that we must be cursed. Probably one of those Ancient control panels you always poke at before I tell you to."

"It's not my fault if-" he paused to suck in a pained breath, "-they turn on when I enter the room."

Rodney was glad that he was outside of Sheppard's eye line, because he needed several heartbeats to compose his expression into something that wasn't muted horror. He'd seen his best friend die already that day – now he had the pleasure of going round again, only this time it wasn't a split second drop into oblivion. It was drawn out blood and bone and pain. It was possibly the worst thing Rodney had ever seen in his life.

It said a lot for Sheppard's state that he barely even seemed to have noticed that their conversation had come to an abrupt end. Silence had never been their norm but buried in the earth, speaking felt somehow unnatural, even if either of them had the strength or the heart to converse. The problem was that Rodney needed to talk to exorcise his demons, or his terror would start to trickle into the back of his mind like a poison.

Oh, yeah, he probably shouldn't be thinking about poison right now, even metaphorical ones. There was something distinctly wrong in his stomach; a cold, cramping sensation that he would have been happy to pass off as mere indigestion if he could just bring himself to believe it, but he'd never been a very good liar, even to himself. They needed to get back to Atlantis, _right now._

There was a noise in the tunnels behind them.

Rodney froze on instinct, heart leaping into his throat to cut off any warning call he might have been able to give Sheppard. The Colonel, for his part, paid no attention until he realised Rodney had stopped – the scientist could see the moment John heard the sound too, his shoulders tensing up and the hand of his unbroken arm clenching into a tight fist.

The sound was strange – not the voices they had both expected, but the slow shuffle of something large moving through too tight a space. Rodney could have sworn he could hear it snuffling.

"Could something be… _living_ down here?" Rodney hissed on an exhale, the words as strangled as his stomach.

John, bone pale and shaking with pain, simply blinked at him with mute horror. The sound inched ever closer.

"We need to move," Rodney decided for both of them, since it was obvious that John was completely out of it. He'd never seen the man like this and it scared him more than he was willing to say, but right now he didn't have time to dwell on the pitiful, silent creature his friend had become. With false bravado, he snatched at Sheppard's uninjured arm and started to tug him in the opposite direction to the sound. "Come on."

John staggered along beside him, his eyes slipping closed along the way as his consciousness wavered sickeningly. Rodney couldn't let him pass out now – they wouldn't stand a chance. He squeezed the arm carefully – he had to balance the torch awkwardly between them with his hands as far apart as his shackles would allow – and trudged onwards.

The sound – creature, whatever it may be – continued on in pursuit. Rodney couldn't decide at first if it was gaining on them or if it was simply his imagination, but after a few minutes of their achingly slow progression he had to admit that the noise was much closer than before. He whimpered softly.

That was, of _fucking_ course, the moment that the last of John's strength gave out entirely. He collapsed without any warning, half dragging Rodney down with him and narrowly avoiding landing on the flaming torch when the scientist did his best to stop him from smacking his head into the stone floor.

Rodney stared at his fallen form in horror. It was too similar an image to the traumas he'd already suffered through that day and with the ever-advancing noise, it was perfectly likely that those images were about to become a reality, while Rodney sat there, utterly helpless. He couldn't fight – had nothing to fight with even if he wanted to. The torch might be able to hold whatever it was off for a while, but then what? This was the end, he knew. This was as far as they would get.

The sound stopped, mere feet away. Was it watching them from the darkness? Enjoying being able to toy with its prey?

With the confidence only available to those who know they are about to die, Rodney stood up. He was shaking from head to toe, terrified beyond all measure, but he stood up and put himself between where the noise had been and the spot where Sheppard had fallen. There was no saving them, but perhaps they didn't have to be defeated without a fight.

"What are you?" Rodney said without meaning to. It didn't matter really and he knew it. It wasn't like he was expecting an answer.

It was why he was so surprised when, half a second before the darkness consumed them both with icy finality, a voice like thunder answered him: _"Death."_

The silence swallowed his scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been away and had exams and a whole multitude of other things. I'm sorry. This story is not forgotten, I swear to you. Hopefully it should start making sense soon enough.


	6. Dreaming Doesn't Mean You're Asleep

Waking up on a freezing cold stone floor was getting mighty old, Rodney thought to himself. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd undergone this process in the last day alone, never mind however many years he'd spent being dragged through horror after horror by one Colonel Sheppard – and speaking of.

"Hmmff," he groaned lightly trying to dissuade the insistent tapping on his cheek. The fingertips paused on his face for a moment, then fell away as an audible sigh ghosted past him.

"One of these days McKay," said a wrecked voice above him, "You're going to give me a heart attack."

It was the rasp in John's voice that caught his attention most, dragging his eyes open without any conscious decision on his part and then almost wishing he hadn't bothered. The Colonel looked like a corpse and it was only the rattling wheeze of his breath that reassured Rodney otherwise. "What-" he tried immediately, the rest of the words snagging at his throat and strangling him before they could escape. Panic, thick and fresh, welled up in his chest as though it had been waiting for him to waver on the edge of sanity.

"P5L-774," the Colonel supplied instantly. "Attacked and imprisoned in some caves. We've been over this."

On another day in another life, Rodney would have been offended by the short, sharp-edged tone John was using but when faced with how badly injured he was, it seemed there was a lot the scientist could forgive. Memories returned in short bursts, a hundred things that he didn't want to think about and many more that were too indistinct to make out but it was something. Right then, it was everything. "Poisoned?"

"Drugged certainly. I thought we agreed you're going to be okay." The corner of John's lips twitched as though he was going to smile but it faded into non-existence before it could take root. Even that minor action was too much for his overtaxed body.

"What happened this time?" Rodney shimmied uncomfortably against the floor for a moment, using his legs to push himself towards the wall and prop himself up. With his hands still shackled, it was difficult to worm his way to mostly upright, but John was clearly unable to help him further and he really didn't want to stay on the ground any longer than he needed to.

"You started shouting about a monster. Said you could hear it."

The sound of snuffling breath ghosted past McKay's ear but he firmly told it to shove off. It wasn't real. If John hadn't heard it too then it couldn't be real – of the two of them, he was the only one they could trust to be seeing reality right now and if he said there was no monster, then there was no monster. That conclusion did nothing to stop the bright thrill of fear that lanced through his chest.

"I wasn't dreaming," he said slowly, realising something that he should have known instantly.

"McKay," Sheppard said firmly, exasperated, "There's no monster. There's nothing down here except us."

"No, that's not-" He wasn't breathing right, heart hammering like a rabbit's, and he had to take a second to centre himself so that he could speak without choking. "You said I was shouting," he managed at length, "Not asleep."

"Oh," John uttered, catching up to his train of thoughts. Rodney hadn't been having another dream like before – when it had begun, he'd still been conscious. A hallucination?

"What's happening to me?" Rodney murmured. He hadn't meant to say it aloud but he was tired and he was aching and in that moment he would have given absolutely anything to be a thousand miles away from where they were. The words escaped him without much protest.

Sheppard's expression was soft, creased into deep lines of exhaustion and pain but he still had enough heart to raise his uninjured arm and squeeze Rodney's shoulder. "I don't know," he said and it sounded honest because it sounded like it hurt him. "But we're going to get you back to Atlantis and Beckett is going to figure it out, alright? You're going to be fine. We'll fix this."

There was no way he could know that for certain but even McKay would have felt like an ass to point that out. Fear continued to press against the back of his skull like a physical presence, but he forced himself to swallow and steady himself. "We should keep moving, right? They must have realised we're gone by now."

The look that Sheppard threw over his shoulder into the darkness beyond was concerned, determined and resigned all at once. "Probably. I'm hoping that they'll take some time to gather up a search party."

"If they know these caves well then they might have sent people to the other entrance. We don't know where this tunnel lets out…"

"But they might," John agreed readily, so obviously wishing that he could arrive at a better plan but coming up short.

Rodney felt a sudden, fierce desire to be someone other than himself, to be someone who could take over leadership of their little duo for just a little while if only so that John could have half an hour where he didn't have to think or to worry about the helpless scientist. There'd been plenty of occasions in Rodney's life where he'd wanted to be faster or stronger but it had never dug in so deeply or with so little warning. What if his dreams weren't just dreams? Looking at Sheppard now… Could they be predictions?

 _No,_ he told himself sternly. There was no such thing. He didn't believe in all that voodoo crap and even if he did, he certainly wasn't a psychic himself. No amount of potential poison was going to change his opinions there. John was going to be fine. He'd said so himself.

"Can you stand?" Sheppard asked, unaware of the scientist's internal conversation.

"Can you?"

"I've got a few miles left in me yet," John replied lightly. "Don't go quitting on me now."

"Who's quitting?" Rodney shot back breathlessly, struggling to lift himself up without using his hands. Beside him, John forced himself to do the same. Neither of them were willing to admit just how difficult it was to get themselves upright and stay there, Rodney dipping awkwardly to retrieve the torch from where he must have dropped it and holding it aloft once more.

"After you," he said courteously, tilting his head towards the uninviting blackness ahead of them.

His ability to speak vastly restricted now that he was having to devote a large amount of his concentration to staying on his feet, John started trudging forwards without another word. Rodney followed on with all the courage he could summon.

At the back of his mind, the shuffling steps of an unseen horror prowled closer.

* * *

"We can't carry on like this Colonel," Rodney said, more to himself than anyone. He'd taken to randomly spouting the first thought in his head to drown out the now-ever-present sound of scuttling in the dark; he'd tried to ask John if he could hear it too but the look he'd received for his troubles was enough of an answer and he hadn't had the courage to ask again.

"No… Choice," John wheezed back, not even slowing in his steady forwards march. Every now and then he would stumble helplessly as his knees began to buckle but he managed to catch himself every time. Rodney wanted to help him but there was no way to support him without also risking setting them both on fire with the fading torch.

"Look, I know you like to pretend that you can keep going on sheer determination, but not all of us are so easily propelled," he said waspishly. "We need to rest. _You_ need to rest."

"We keep moving."

"Running isn't going to do us any good if we both push ourselves to the point of exhaustion Colonel, and I for one am not going to just stand here and-"

"Rodney."

"-For all we know there could be people right behind us now and there's nothing-"

"Rodney."

"-and I know that you think you can do everything just because you're _Colonel John Sheppard_ and you can do anything but-"

" _McKay!"_ His voice was raw with anger and frustration and more than a little pain. John had stopped in the middle of the narrow tunnel they were following him, twisting awkwardly on one leg to look him dead in the face. In the flickering light, Rodney could only see the sharp shimmer in his eyes, the rest of his face shrouded in shadows. "We can't stop. I need-" he cut himself off, dragged in a tense breath, continued, "I need you to keep moving. We _can't stop."_

"Look at yourself Colonel. You know that you can't keep moving much longer." He didn't want to tell John the truth, tell him that whatever drug it was in his system was starting to drag him away from consciousness. He could feel the black tendrils of it snaking through his veins with every beat of his heart. "We need to rest and you know it. If they were behind us we would have heard them."

There was no point in saying that he'd been hearing sounds of pursuit for hours now.

"Rodney… If I stop, I can't guarantee I'll start moving again." John sounded a mix of ashamed and defeated – it was horrible to hear.

"Cross that bridge when we come to it?"

That was enough to drag a huff of pained laughter from the Colonel. Rodney wanted to smile back at having achieved even that much but with his heart trying to squeeze itself between his ribs to escape, he couldn't quite make the expression take shape.

"Alright," Sheppard said slowly, voice quiet and eyes downcast. "You're right. Of course, you're right. We need rest."

Rodney watched with trepidation as the Colonel swayed awkwardly towards the tunnel wall, all but collapsing into it before he let his legs give way so that he could slide to the ground.

Bizarrely needing someone to be the cheerful one and painfully aware that John couldn't fill that role himself, Rodney found himself saying, "For all we know, Teyla and Ronon might have made it back to Atlantis by now. Maybe the cavalry is already on its way."

"Even if they're coming," John huffed, "They won't know where we are. No signal down here." He poked mutinously at his forearm where Rodney knew his subcutaneous transmitter was buried, then grimaced as the action pulled at too many things that must have hurt.

The scientist's mind dripped back into thinking about how far down they must be – he forced himself instead to remember the 'bitch fit' – John's words, not his – he'd thrown when he'd been forced to receive a transmitter of his own. Of course, the stupid thing had saved his life on multiple occasions at this point but that didn't stop it from hurting like hell.

"You don't know that. We might get lucky."

"When do we _ever_ get lucky?"

"Statistically it has to happen at some point."

The laugh that escaped John at that was a pained, rasping thing and it was enough of a shock to his ears that Rodney's head jerked up from where he'd been resting it against the freezing cold wall. John's eyes were slipping closed, his jaw hanging slack as consciousness crept away from him.

"Colonel? Hey, Sheppard!" Rodney gripped at the shoulder closest to him with both hands, only just stopping himself from shaking the man. With all his injuries, that could only end badly. Instead, he squeezed down as hard as he could, fingers digging into the slack muscles under his hand and willing life into them. "We said rest but that doesn't mean you can fall asleep. I need you to stay awake. Sheppard? _Sheppard?"_

There was no response other than a faint flicker across the man's brow before his face smoothed out completely.

"John?" He asked softly, already knowing futility. "John, please. Don't leave me here alone."

No answer.

The torch flickered, John's breathing stuttered then eased, the scuttling sounds from beyond the firelight intensified.

A shadow moved closer.

Rodney tried not to scream.


End file.
